


Fair Company

by jedishampoo



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: F/M, Het, Small Hints of Horatio/Archie, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7790767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedishampoo/pseuds/jedishampoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drinking Portsmouth dry. With girls and each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fair Company

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic from the mid-2000s, unread and unedited since then. These ladies are doubtless not well-developed, oops. Unapologetic silly smut.

Horatio forced the rest of his wine down his throat and smacked the empty glass on the table with a wet and wooden thump. The pub’s stemware was as inferior as its wine.  
   
"I don’t think we should call for another bottle of _that_ , Archie."  
   
"Terrible stuff, Horatio," Archie Kennedy agreed with a grin, nevertheless finishing his own glass and upending the bottle to drain the last few drops into his mouth. "I daresay I know where we can get better."  
   
"Think I’ve had enough." Horatio belched quietly and settled back into his chair, hoping that by being still he could stop the dingy, noisy room from spinning. He never liked feeling drunk, but the occasion had seemed to call for it.  
   
"Not even close, _Third Lieutenant_ Hornblower! You’ve barely touched your spirits. A transfer to a seventy-four helmed by none other than the legendary Captain Sawyer deserves another few bottles, at the very least."  
   
"Back at our lodgings?" Horatio asked hopefully. He shifted fuzzy eyes over their surroundings. Rough men hunkered over cards or glasses at dark, smoky tables, muttering of pressings and beatings and desires to remain quayside. The Quail was a typical dockside Portsmouth sailor’s tavern—but definitely not an officer’s tavern.  
   
"Oh, come, Horatio! Thou cannot give up on me so easily!" Archie stood and grabbed Horatio’s arm from its comfortable perch on the table. He flashed laughing blue eyes at the murky squalor of the Quail, then back at his friend. "Never fear, I’ll find us a spot with better wine and better company. Follow!"  
   
With only a small moan, Horatio allowed himself to be led out of the tavern into the foggy streets of Portsmouth. Truth to tell, he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to end the evening himself, despite his own protests to the contrary. Landing positions on the Renown had been great feats indeed—they were positions of honor, paid for with sweat, fear and blood, and very much deserving of celebration.  
   
But he hadn’t quite intended on drinking Portsmouth _dry_. Horatio knew from experience that Archie had a much sterner stomach than he, as well as a much better head for spirits. Whatever happened tonight, Horatio was sure he’d regret it tomorrow.  
   
"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow!" Archie said with uncanny prescience and spread arms as they stepped through the feeble circle of light that spilled from the open door of the Quail and on into the gloom. He then linked his own arm with Horatio’s and led the way through dark bends and alleys. "Tomorrow we recover, then Thursday we report to Renown. Tonight, we visit—the theater!"  
   
"Do not think I could sit through a play," Horatio mumbled, hunching into his coat’s lapels as they walked. In the periphery of his vision he could see a pair of unsavory-looking dockside loungers eyeing them with speculation from the mouth of an alleyway. After a few moments the dark pair backed away. Apparently they had caught sight of the glint of iron at the officers’ thighs and thought better of whatever they had been planning. Horatio fumbled his free hand down over his sword’s hilt, wishing he were less foxed and more ready for action.  
   
Archie led on, unconcerned with their surroundings in the midst of his own gaiety. "Don’t be a fool, Horatio! The play’s over already. We are going to gather some fair company and repair to the Crown."  
   
"We cannot afford the Crown!" Horatio protested. It was an exclusive club, one of the best Portsmouth had to offer. It was frequented by captains, commodores and other higher-ups.  
   
"What! Don’t tell me you didn’t save your prize money from those corvettes we captured!" Archie laughed. "You pinch every pound. Yet we have our raises to look forward to as well!"  
   
Horatio acknowledged this with a nod, but tempered, "Will we have enough to afford fair company?"  
   
"We will where we are going, my friend."  
   
***********  
   
Less than an hour later, Archie watched, bemused, as Horatio shifted in his chair as if trying to distance himself from the tall blonde perched so saucily on his knee. His friend’s eyes held a bleary yet panicked look, as if he could not decide quite how he’d gotten himself into such a position.  
   
Archie grinned at Delilah, the giggling brunette in his own lap, and felt quite pleased with himself. He’d known as they left the Quail that he’d have to work quickly—Horatio, bless his soul, had no head for spirits and less for merriment.  
   
So Archie had dragged Horatio through the streets and straight into the theater’s back room, a place with which he himself was quite familiar. Much to his friend’s embarrassment, he’d shouted, "I daresay there are a couple of ladies here who wouldn’t mind keeping company with His Britannic Majesty’s finest?" and within a gratifyingly short time they’d found themselves surrounded by several very pretty ladies who’d screamed "Archie!" and kissed his cheeks.  
   
Archie had picked two then led them all the short distance to the Crown, and magically procured a fine set of rooms, a private parlor and several bottles of a fine vintage. The men were down to shirtsleeves and draped with women. Life was good.  
   
He felt laughter bubble up like wine turned to champagne in his throat as he watched Horatio try to reach around his lady for his glass. Horatio didn’t normally over-imbibe, but Archie thought perhaps his friend was disconcerted by the presence of Celia in his lap and was therefore seeking some liquid courage. Celia (if that was her real name; Archie doubted it) grabbed the glass and tried to hold it to Horatio’s lips, dribbling it down his chin and staining his shirt. It quite ruined his dignity. _It will survive_ , thought Archie _. If he stays true to form Horatio will probably be Commander within a few months, and then he’ll be no fun at all_.  
   
"Celia is quite taken with your friend, she is," Delilah whispered into his ear.  
   
He abandoned his contemplation of Horatio’s plight and turned his attention to his own companion. Delilah had always been one of his favorites in Portsmouth. Not a true actress but merely a chorus dancer with aspirations, she was quite pretty with dark eyes and dark curls. Several tresses had fallen out of the pins she’d worn during whatever performance they’d given this evening to tumble about her impressive white shoulders and bosom.  
   
These girls’ company could be had for relatively little compared to some naval officers’ lightskirts—a night in a private suite at the Crown was a fine treat for these two. And they understood the value of having fun when it could be had, and of not worrying over where the men would be tomorrow. There were always new men in a port town.  
   
Horatio had muttered that these two were not likely to offer much in the way of conversation. Archie had been forced to remind him that they were not after conversation.  
   
"Is she? And how do _you_ feel about him?" he teased back.  
   
Delilah swatted his shoulder with a mock-angry glare. "Stoopid! I am happy to see _you_ , Archie! Where have you been?"  
   
"Fighting, of course, for months, and damn glad for a rest."  
   
"Poor soul!" She snuggled against him in sympathy, all soft curves. "Did you kill lots of Frogs?"  
   
"Several at least."  
   
"Brave Archie! You deserve a reward!" She wrapped her plump arms around his neck and kissed him.  
  
About time, thought Archie, and leaned back into his chair, pulling her against him. She smelled as good as she looked—light, flowery, a welcome dose of femininity after months at sea with a stinking crew.  
   
She tasted good, too. He slipped his tongue between her soft lips to sample anew his fine wine, mingled now with the taste of her mouth. A familiar and warm languor spread through his limbs. Dimly he traced his fingers over her ribs to the neckline of her gown. Her skin was so smooth it tempted his fingers below, seducing them to curl around the soft breast tucked inside.  
   
Delilah moaned into his mouth and wriggled on his lap quite delightfully. Her round bottom pressed against his thighs and her fingers sent tickling chills across his nape as she worked at the lashings of his pigtail.  
   
Archie settled in for a few minutes of this agreeable activity. He managed to lower his companion’s bodice and had just pressed his lips to the warm flesh of one bosom when he heard a strangled cry, a clink, and a trill of female laughter.  
   
_Horatio can’t possibly be shocked, can he?_ thought Archie. They’d both seen worse in the bowels of the ship at dock, and with less attractive women.  
   
But his friend’s distress had apparently been caused by the wine, again. As Archie watched, Horatio half-lurched from his chair to catch a bottle as it rolled along the floor, drawing a claret trail on the carpet. Celia tumbled to the floor with a thump, still laughing. Horatio couldn’t seem to make up his mind whether to catch the wine or the girl, and finally grabbed the swaying bottle.  
   
"If ye’d wanted a drink, sir," said Celia with a snort from the floor at Horatio’s feet, "all ye had to do was ask!"  
   
"I didn’t mean--" Horatio started.  
   
"Don’t waste the wine, Horatio!"  
   
Horatio turned to glare at Archie. "I wasn’t--"  
   
"Oh, look, sir!" laughed Celia, getting to her knees and reaching for Horatio’s waistband. "Yeh’ve spilled wine all over your trousers. Here, let me help with that!"  
   
"There is no need--"  
   
"Oh, let her do it, Horatio!"  
   
Archie turned back to Delilah. She’d ignored the farce playing out across the room and had taken the opportunity to loosen the ties on Archie’s shirt. As soon as she had his re-focused attention, Delilah deliberately looked down at the fastenings to his own trousers.  
   
"Do I need to spill wine on you too, Archie?"  
   
"Absolutely not," he said, feeling an expectant heat flutter through his abdomen.  
   
"Well, then…"  
   
Archie lolled his head back and idly watched the slight sway of the ceiling, more intent on the sensations of his body than those of his eyes. Cushioned flesh pressed into his face and he welcomed it, and the feeling of small fingers sliding down the skin of his belly, and—  
   
"Ah! Ah!"  
   
_What now?_ Archie lolled his head to the side to make sure Horatio wasn’t going to vomit, or worse. Then he blinked to clear his eyes and to have a better look.  
   
Horatio was leaned back in almost the same position as Archie, with a look of half-worry, half-ecstasy on his flushed and shiny face. Celia’s blonde head was positioned between his legs. She was obviously doing something quite pleasurable to his friend.  
   
Archie craned his neck for a better view, but all he could see was Horatio’s trousers at his knees and Celia’s hands gripping his thighs. Horatio, gasping for breath, didn’t appear to know what to do with his own hands. One swiped the dark curls at his forehead and the other gripped the arm of his chair with white knuckles. His sweaty fingers slipped on the wooden chair knob.  
   
Guilt over his voyeurism lasted only a moment. Archie stared. He couldn’t help but watch. It was just so… interesting, to see Horatio aroused by something other than duty. And Celia really did appear to be quite skillful. And the best thing was, Horatio never noticed, so intent was he on his own indulgence.  
   
Archie watched as Celia’s hair fell loose about her shoulders with her movements, tumbling about Horatio’s knees. He heard the sound of their breathing, and the smack of lips on skin, and felt a flush of his own wash hard through him from his face to his belly, melting to a pool of heat and ache at his gut.  
   
Fascinated by the erotic scenario, Archie thought he could almost feel the lips and the spit and the tongue and the air on his own arousal, then jumped at a sudden jolt of painful contact. He turned his head with a gasp. Delilah had wrapped her fingers around the tender skin of his aching erection, and was leaning close to tease his ears with whispers.  
   
"It’s making me all warm, like."  
   
"I also," he managed to breathe, with only a slight catch in his voice as her fingers squeezed once, then twice. "There is a bed in the other--"  
   
"Don’t need it," she laughed, and shifted to straddle him on the wide chair. Her nipples pressed like fingers along the skin of his chest through his open shirt. He felt his trousers being yanked to his own knees, and then a sealing, clenching heat that melted every muscle in his body.  
   
Archie sighed, and wrapped his arms hard about his soft lady, pressing his nose against her breastbone. Yielding flesh encased his cheeks, and he was wholly encompassed. Life was indeed good.  
   
***  
   
"Oh!"  
   
Horatio couldn’t help the strangled cry that tore itself from his throat, and he wasn’t even done yet. Signs portended, however, that he wasn’t going to last much longer.  
   
Somewhere his mind dimly remembered that his friend was still in the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to look. All feeling was concentrated painfully between his thighs, on the mouth that was giving him such horrendous pleasure. It had been a long time since he’d felt the luxury of such powerlessness.  
   
Suddenly the pleasure was whisked away. Cool air from the room blew across his belly, slight currents making the ache worse for the loss of sensation.  
   
Horatio opened his eyes and looked down, but all he could see was the top of a blonde head, spinning with the rest of the room. The head turned to look to the side for a second with a warm chuckle, then the lips covered him again, eliciting another moan. A few more seconds of tightening pain and then all feeling was torn from him, flowing out of him.  
   
"Ah!" he gasped again.  
   
A minute or so later, Horatio straightened himself in the chair to accept the return of Celia to his lap. Feeling strangely shy but grateful, he wrapped his arms around her. He felt her form shake slightly.  
   
Another minute or so and he realized the shaking was caused by her laughter. Then he became aware that she was looking across the room. Puzzled, Horatio opened his eyes and tried to focus them in the direction of Celia’s turned head.  
   
It was Archie. And it was slightly shocking, what Archie was doing. Actually, what he was doing wasn’t shocking, just the fact that he was doing it right in front of Horatio. Hadn’t they chosen a suite with private rooms?  
   
Then Horatio worked his slightly fuddled and very relaxed brain for a few more moments, and remembered what he’d been doing only minutes ago, and right in front of Archie. Apparently there were no secrets this night.  
   
The other two seemed to be enjoying themselves quite thoroughly. Archie’s golden hair hung down over the back of the chair, which was gripped by small white fingers on either side of his head. Horatio caught full sight of two white and very generous breasts as they heaved about Archie’s shoulders.  
   
They hadn’t bothered to remove more than the minimum required clothing; Horatio could see Archie’s hands gripping the skirts bunched up about the girl’s sides as she crouched above him. Her eyes were closed in her pretty face, and she bit her lip as she strained against him.  
   
Then sound crept across the room to his ears, hard breaths and grunts and small moans mixed with Celia’s quiet laughter. Suddenly embarrassed, Horatio averted his eyes and reached once more for the wine, vowing to spill no more of it.  
   
The heavy spirits slid down his throat with only a slight catch and burn. Celia turned at his movement and smiled cat-like at him, taking the bottle and a deep swig for herself. She licked her lips and kissed the corner of his mouth, then settled back to enjoy the show.  
   
Across the room the other couple were nearing the end of their exertions. The girl obviously knew what she was doing; the pleasure was evident in her face. She rocked forward, closed her eyes and yelped, and Archie gasped. The moment was so intimate Horatio was embarrassed again but shunted modesty aside in favor of fascination—he could almost feel the grasp of the girl’s body about him, the skin of her smooth thighs as they clenched against his own.  
   
Horatio hadn’t thought he would be cleared for action for some time yet, but the carnality of it all awakened a tiny throb in the pit of his stomach. As if she could sense it, Celia shifted and raised her eyebrows at him.  
   
A gentleman would return her favor, he thought, but at the moment he could hardly move. He waggled a slow finger in the air, asking her to wait for a few more moments. She grinned and kissed him again. Horatio sighed. Right then a cigar sounded wonderful, for all he was not a smoking man.  
   
***  
   
Archie had the oddest craving for a cigar. He and Horatio had been given some fine Virginians upon leaving their last ship, but those were stored in their lodgings. Pity. He wondered if perhaps he could pick some up downstairs.  
   
"Oof!"  
   
A knee in his stomach took his breath and brought him from his post-coital haze. Delilah had been snuggled at his chest but now climbed him to peer over his shoulder.  
   
"See anything you like?" he drawled. Perhaps Horatio and Celia had initiated more mischief. But the room was silent.  
   
Delilah patted his shoulder and sighed. "Your friend _is_ very handsome."  
   
"Oh?" Archie allowed a small hint of pique to enter his voice. "Bored with me already, are you?"  
   
"Silly Archie!" She swatted his head then kissed it to take away the sting. Soon, though, she returned to her position over his shoulder. "They’re just sitting there! I swear. Celia isn’t half bold enough."  
   
"She looked pretty damned bold to me."  
   
"Pooh. _That_ was nothing." Archie could feel Delilah’s curls tickle his cheeks as she shook her head in disgust. "Your friend’s one of those shy ones, isn’t he? What that man needs is a good kick."  
   
"Oh, very well," Archie said, realizing Delilah’s interest was fixated elsewhere. But he didn’t mind switching; her friend was quite tolerable. And he was too drunk and having too good a time to care. He planted one final kiss on one astonishing breast before helping her to pull up her bodice. Then he slapped her on the bottom. "You want to see if you can do better, then go ahead."  
   
Delilah tumbled from his lap with unflattering haste and stumbled away. "Just sitting there like a lump, is he?" he heard her say. Archie turned to watch, not even bothering to hide his delighted grin. He always enjoyed seeing Horatio squirm.  
   
Celia had her own bottle at her lips and had apparently gulped down a good deal of its contents. "I am quite unsatishfied," she hiccuped.  
   
"Horatio! How dare you!"  
   
Horatio’s face was positively crimson as he managed another glare at Archie. "I was hardly given a chance--"  
   
But Delilah shushed him with an impertinent finger and pulled the blonde from his friend’s lap. "Go visit with Archie," she told her. "I can take care of this one."  
   
"Cor!"  
   
Archie grinned as Celia shuffled in his direction to stand over him. He looked her over. Now that he could have a good stare, he realized she was actually quite stunning. Long golden hair curled down over her pink dress, which clung tightly to a slim figure. Two blue eyes peeped out from a slightly tanned face, and two nicely rounded breasts mounded saucily over the top of her pink gown. She didn’t have Delilah’s bosom, but then _nobody_ had Delilah’s bosom.  
   
And she was tall, at least an inch taller than himself. Archie wasn’t intimidated, however. Everything evened out when one was not standing.  
   
"Welcome, my dove. Have a seat." Archie patted his lap, and she giggled and fell onto his knees.  
   
Archie had learnt from an early age that his own combination of fair hair, blue eyes and an impudent grin could advance him well enough when it came to the ladies. He’d had plenty who were willing to teach him what he knew, and he enjoyed putting these lessons to work.  
   
So he wasted no time with this new girl. He pulled the wine bottle from her to set it on the floor, then leaned over to kiss her and slide one hand up her gown. She gasped into his mouth but settled down remarkably, wrapping one long arm about his shoulders. Again the scent and taste of woman and wine submerged his senses. If there was a hint of something else, he didn’t want to think about it and didn’t much care at the moment.  
   
Her long fingers curled in his hair, teasing the sensitive nape of his neck. Chills trickled down his spine to ignite a twitch in his abdomen, but he didn’t let it distract him from the literal task at hand. Under the silky fabric of her dress her skin was even smoother. He brushed his palms over her garters and slid his hand up, rubbing his thumb over the soft hollow at the juncture of her thighs and belly, delighting in the flutter of muscles beneath his fingertips.  
   
He kissed her more deeply, teasing his fingers over the curls between her thighs. She was pressed so tightly to him he could feel her body tauten with anticipation, one foot curling against his calves in mute appeal. Not wanting to disappoint, he slid his thumb into the warm cleft of her mound, finding the little nub at her apex and brushing it once, then twice, laughing into her mouth as she twitched against him. Dimly Archie heard snippets of heated conversation from elsewhere in the room, but this time he ignored them, so wrapped up was he.  
   
Further exploration into her warm, velvety depths revealed to his fingers the slick opening to her womb, and he slid his finger inside, enjoying the taste of her moans in his mouth. He pressed his hand against her, sliding his palm against the petal-soft skin, searching deeper, seeking those tiny, buried ridges. His hair was seized, and pulled, and he knew he’d found them.  
   
While his fingers tortured her below, he dragged his lips from hers to travel across the pulse at the hollow of her throat. Her back arched to him and he slid his mouth against the neckline of her gown, breathing hotly against the nipple hidden beneath the scanty fabric.  
   
Heaving sighs teased the top of his head but her hands had anchored themselves at his neck. She was no help now. He had to bring his other hand around to grasp the silk at her décolletage, dragging it down to free her breast. It was delightful, and he fastened gentle teeth upon it immediately.  
   
She was drenched against his fingers, and Archie imagined that wet heat against his shaft and moaned himself. But she was yet an unsatisfied woman and he had a job to do. He pressed harder, almost forcing his caress, and teasing her breast with his tongue, breathing her skin. Suddenly her whole form quivered and she cried out, clenching tightly against his hand, and Archie began to smile a secret smile--  
   
Her cry was followed by a crash of glass behind them.  
   
Slightly sweaty, Archie allowed himself a quick glance up and around the top of the chair to see what calamity had befallen Horatio now. But it wasn’t Horatio, it was Delilah. She’d cleared the table and sat delectably naked on its edge, arms crossed, while Horatio glared at her.  
   
Reassured that everything was proceeding well elsewhere, he looked back down at the delightful lady in his lap. Her fingers brushed through his hair as she smiled up at him.  
   
"Oh, Sir!" was all she said.  
   
Archie felt quite proud of himself, but was hoping the praise could be somewhat warmer. "I suppose my friend had you all warmed up?" he risked.  
   
"Not at all, sir!"  
   
Archie smiled, complacent. He slid from the chair and pulled her with him to the floor, ready to satisfy himself.  
   
***  
   
Horatio was painfully aroused but was not about to give this naked…actress…the satisfaction of ordering him around.  
   
First she’d insinuated that he was unable to please a woman. Then, she’d offered him the opportunity to prove himself. To her.  
   
Even mostly drunk and partly clothed, Horatio _did_ have some pride. But his sneer had not deterred her. The impertinent female had undressed herself before him, slowly, teasing him by pulling off one article of clothing after another to deposit them in a pile on the floor.  
   
It was the garters that had done it. She had stood there in nothing but her garters, all glorious breasts and white skin and dark curls, and had peeled off her stockings in a striptease that had left him breathless and stiffened to the point of suffering. Her laugh when he crossed his legs had irritated him but not enough to bank his body’s excitement at the vision she presented.  
   
Now, she perched on the edge of the table, legs parted, and leaned back on her hands to smile at him.  
   
"Well sir?"  
   
Horatio could take no more. He jumped from his chair to stalk the few feet to the table and grab her shoulders to give her a good jaw-me-dead.  
   
But her skin was utterly smooth beneath his fingers, and lightly slicked with sweat, and he could smell the scent of her hair and her earlier activity and instead of haranguing her, he pressed those extraordinary breasts to his chest and shoved his tongue into her mouth.  
   
"Oh, mmphs smmph!" she mouthed against him. He pulled back to say one thing.  
   
"Strumpet!"  
   
"Oh, yes, sir!"  
   
Then he was pressing her against the cleared table, and her small hands were tearing at the waistband of his trousers. They had hardly been pulled up from before and dropped easily to the floor.  
   
And Horatio could only be glad she was already naked, because there was so much soft, marvelous flesh to explore. Yet before long, without conscious choice or thought, he pushed her back, hard against the table, to stretch himself out upon her.  
   
This offered so many new sensations to enjoy despite the single-minded throb in his loins—air swirling about to tease the backs of his thighs and buttocks; warm, soft skin in his palms, juxtaposed against the solid wood of the table as it scraped his knuckles; the slickness of her teeth beneath his tongue as his head spun with spirits and desire.  
   
Dimly he could remember watching her earlier, with Archie, and the ghostly memory of that lust took solid form and struck him anew with its fists. He couldn’t wait any longer to have her, and rocked back to plant his feet on the floor.  
   
As if reading his mind through his mouth, Delilah captured his thighs with her ankles, forcing him hard against her and agitating the already-too-sensitive skin of his erection. A moan worked its way from his belly to his lips and he pulled his mouth from hers, then nearly launched himself into her slick passage.  
   
"Oh, yes, sir!" she repeated.  
   
Her heels cut into his bottom with silent urgings and he acquiesced, moving inside her, reveling in each slippery contact. He knew he was shoving her against the table but he didn’t much care. She didn’t seem to care either, but rocked against him and groaned each time he hit a particularly sensitive spot with his most intimate caresses.  
   
His earlier release had left him with more stamina, and once his initial surge of lust had passed he settled into a hard rhythm. Some things, however, are inevitable. Each thrust, each acute friction became more and more unbearable to him.  
   
Yet some small corner of his brain, some center of self-preservation, reminded him of her earlier words regarding his ability to please a woman. There was no harm in making sure of her satisfaction. He pushed his hand between their sweaty abdomens, fingers searching.  
   
Apparently they found what they had been looking for; Delilah jumped and shrieked and suddenly she was convulsing, clamping muscles around him, squeezing away his last bit of control.  
   
Horatio collapsed nose-first into the table beside her, only dully feeling the pain amid his whole-bodied sigh of release. But after a few moments a throb grew between his eyes and he raised himself to check the damage.  
   
His fingers found no breaks or blood. But being mostly upright reminded him forcibly of his surroundings. He was half-dressed and bent over a naked woman spread on a table like a dessert course. And still in the same room as Archie.  
   
***  
   
Horatio needn’t have worried. Archie at that moment was more interested in doing than watching.  
   
A few minutes of rolling along the floor had divested both him and Celia of their clothing. Archie could only be glad he’d chosen an inn with such plush carpets, or this exercise would have knocked them both black and blue.  
   
Archie pressed to Celia from behind, face buried in her mass of sweet-smelling blonde curls and palms curled around her breasts. As he took a moment to enjoy the mountain of woman in his arms, she clasped his hands and brought them to her hips, then bent forward, wriggling her bottom against him quite suggestively.  
   
Archie had rather thought to have her more traditionally. Those long legs would feel lovely wrapped about his waist, he was sure.  
   
  
But a few rasps of her rounded stern against his chaser changed his mind. And she presented just as appetizing a prospect from this perspective. He dragged a hand around from her hip, giving her rounded cheek just a small squeeze as it passed over its glossy skin, then down to seek the opening he’d explored and so admired earlier. Its softness parted easily for the questing tip of his shaft, and he guided himself in.  
   
In this position he could pilot her body rather than his own and he took advantage of it, grasping her hips with hard fingers to propel and pull himself inside. Sweat formed aggressively between their mingled flesh, smacking and stinging as their bodies collided.  
   
It was intense and enjoyable, and soon Archie’s body was as taut as hers, and tightening with each thrust. Before much longer the painful knot of fire spread throughout his belly, slowing each movement as if in a haze of sensation, and then released itself in a final shuddering gasp.  
   
Both their trembling limbs gave way and Archie collapsed atop her. She was so tall, he could stretch himself out upon her like a bed of woman.  
   
But after a few moments Celia laughed and bumped her hips beneath him in an entreaty to move. He half-rolled off her and watched, laughing himself, as she started to climb unsteadily to her feet then wavered and gave up, crashing to her hands and knees. Crawling was the most expedient way to reach the wine bottle, and this she did, then collapsed against the wall, adorably wanton as she poured the wine down her throat.  
   
As an experiment, Archie tried to climb to his own feet. He was more successful than she had been. Apparently he had sweated the spirits from his blood.  
   
Yet now he wanted a cigar more than ever. Celia was well-occupied elsewhere, and a quick trip would hurt nothing. Archie had located his clothing and started to dress when he remembered his other companions.  
   
"Horatio?" he called out as he pulled on his breeches, not really expecting an answer. But a soft reply wafted to his ears.  
   
"Yes?" And then Horatio himself stepped out of the bedroom. He was again fully-dressed—well, dressed in shirtsleeves and trousers anyway—and alone.  
   
"Where is Delilah?"  
   
"She is… in the bedroom. With a bottle of wine."  
   
That sounded like Delilah, true enough. "I had thought about going in search of a cigar. Do you wish to come?"  
   
"God, yes."  
   
***  
   
Another half-hour saw them jacketed once more in their full lieutenanted dignity and sitting forlornly at the tap. Alone.  
   
At least they’d finally acquired cigars. Horatio took a long puff and leaned back in his chair, blowing smoke in a stream at the ceiling and pondering their situation.  
   
"I don’t suppose we should possibly rouse them out now."  
   
"No," Archie agreed.  
   
Horatio sipped at his ale. He did not think he could drink another drop of wine, which was just as well, because they’d returned to their rooms to find all the wine gone and both girls passed out on one of the beds. An appropriate gentlemanly show of concern had revealed that the girls were quite happy where they were, thank you, and would the men please go away for a few minutes until the room stopped spinning?  
   
So the men had considerately removed themselves back to the tap. There was always the parlor and another bedroom but Horatio had found that despite the late hour he was not quite ready to end the evening. He supposed all the exercise had reinvigorated them. And he doubted that the room would stop spinning for the ladies anytime soon.  
   
"Archie??"  
   
A female voice interrupted Horatio’s ruminations. It was followed by two pretty redheaded female forms, which unlinked arms to shower Archie with hugs and kisses.  
   
"Bella? Deirdre! What are you doing here?"  
   
Actresses, thought Horatio, and apparently known to Archie. He was not surprised. Yet he _was_ surprised at their appearance here. The tap at the Crown was notable as a gentleman’s enclave, and unescorted females, especially of the actress variety, were a rarity. He waited with interest to hear their answer.  
   
"Oh, we were invited by two naval gentlemen such as yourselves," one of the redheads, Horatio didn’t know which, answered. "But they’ve been gaming in the other room for _hours_ and _hours_ and we’ll never rouse them before dawn and we’re _bored_!"  
   
Horatio’s interest was now definitely piqued. "Gaming? Where?"  
   
"In there," one of the girls sneered and waved a damning hand at the open door to an anteroom, through which Horatio could somewhat see several tables full of intense gentleman and piles of money. "We couldn’t take it any longer. We asked them to stop and they _wouldn’t_ , and told us to leave if we didn’t like it!"  
   
"What are they playing?"  
   
"Whist."  
   
"Whist?" Horatio craned his neck for a better view.  
   
"Oh, go on, Horatio." Archie sounded resigned. He turned to the girls. "Now you see, you ladies have deprived me of my last companion. The man loves nothing better than to win at cards."  
   
"Poor Archie! What shall we do?"  
   
Horatio didn’t intend to lose the opportunity. And Archie seemed well-accompanied. Horatio bowed to the ladies and to his smirking friend, and wended his way through the tap to the smoky gambling hell. Soon he was too occupied with counting the rubbers and waiting for a break in the game to wonder whether or not there would be a bed left for him to sleep in when the night was ended.  
 

  
**End: _Thanks for Reading!_**


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